


Pulled Apart by Inches

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Asphyxiation, Flogging, Gen, Graphic Depiction of Corpses, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Mind Games, Possible Future Noncon I Don't Know Yet, Probably an awful ending but I don't know where it's going so I can't properly warn for it yet, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 03:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15743088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Obi-Wan was the one who fell into the shaft on Naboo, not Maul. Mortally wounded, he's slain by Sidious and then brought back to life, trapped in Sidious' lair, with the sith master amusing himself by trying to maneuver Obi-Wan into turning to the dark side.





	Pulled Apart by Inches

**Author's Note:**

> I marked it noncon just in case. Right now, it could go either way, but it isn't in the first chapter and the second chapter doesn't have its full collection of brain sparkles yet.
> 
> I meant it when I said horror. So just keep that in mind. What Sidious has to do to make someone Fall is twist them into thinking only about themselves, not about others. (Light-selfless/Dark-selfish, yadiyada) So while this Sidious certainly isn't the type to punch Obi-Wan and demand "Fall, dammit!" he certainly will do his best to place Obi-Wan in situations where self-pity, fear, and self-needs will be loud enough to drown anything else out. He will kill innocents, keep Obi-Wan struggling to survive at all, deprive him of clothing and dehumanize him, force Obi-Wan to take from corpses to survive (battling rigor mortis), for starters. Fear of what Sidious *might* make him endure is a torture level all its own for Obi-Wan, because he has no idea exactly where Sidious would go. Example: Sidious will leave him in the company of a corpse indefinitely, leaving Obi-Wan to wonder, as starvation begins to edge closer, just what Sidious intends. I have never written cannibalism and I doubt I'm going to start in this story, but Obi-Wan doesn't know that.
> 
> At the same time, Sidious is easing Dooku into a Sith mindset, and he's perfectly willing to use that to traumatize and injure Obi-Wan even more.
> 
> This first chapter is probably indicative of what's coming later, so if you reach a place in this first chapter where you're no longer enjoying yourself, there is probably little value in forcing yourself through to the end. The goal of writing this is to make the reader very uncomfortable, but because of running along that edge, there may be places that pass over that place and into something where enjoyment is impossible, since that edge where discomfort becomes something worse lies in different places for every person. If it looks like the trajectory is going to move past that line of discomfort for you, it is entirely okay to step out, and wait until day after tomorrow for an entirely different story, or go read one of my older works. Please take care of yourselves first, darlings. <3

 

He remembered falling.

He didn't remember hitting the bottom.

He remembered dying.

And worst of all...

He remembered being dragged back again.

 

* * *

 

Sidious had not expected Jinn to successfully slay Maul. He'd been waiting at the tunnels around the base of the shaft, having given Maul instructions to send at least one of them down that way.

Sidious had...  _relieved_ ... Plagueis of his duties, and Sidious was eager to try bringing a Force-sensitive back from death.

It was the padawan who shattered from impact at his feet. Not dead yet, but close, eyes open but glazing, body shuddering.

Sidious felt Maul die. A shock to be sure.

There wasn't much time.

He planted his foot over the padawan's throat and  _pressed_ .

There wasn't a struggle, though eyes cleared for a fraction of a moment and lungs  _tried_ to fight—

And then the padawan was gone, and a shrieked cry of denial from above said the bond between master and apprentice had been wrenched apart.

Sidious gathered up his prize, and returned to the place where he would forge something new.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was being held captive by a Sith Lord. A Sith Lord who'd reached into the Force and ripped him out of its safe embrace and stuffed him back in his body.

Said body shuddered every few hours, just as a reminder that it wasn't even close to ready to get over that shock.

His bond with Qui-Gon was dead, the ends bleeding and tangled, something that had been stretched too tightly and had snapped, recoiling back on itself.

Obi-Wan had been left alone in the dark for so long when he first returned that he began to wonder if that  _was_ the afterlife. The pain, echoes of breaks that had been smashed into his body and were no longer there. The ache of his severance from Qui-Gon. The cold and the loneliness and the boredom.

Was it death?

And then the  _Sith_ had arrived, informed him  _he_ was the new master.

Thankfully he hadn't tried to force his way into bonding with Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan would fight to the  _death_ before he allowed such an intimacy from the vile oozing in the Force that was this man.

Being entirely naked did not help him feel more brave.

The light was on in his cell, now, and for the first while he'd searched it for a means of escape.

And then he'd sat still and tried to reach out far enough to alert anyone he was in trouble.

And then, hungry and exhausted, he'd slept on the cold stone floor, the lights still cruel and bright.

Now?

Now he  _knew_ the temperature had been dropped, and was still dropping.

“If you kill me, you're never going to hear me call you what you want!”

The Sith had been  _very_ insistent, Obi-Wan was to call him  _master._ Obi-Wan might have spat on his feet in response. Qui-Gon was either grieving or dead, and there was no way in  _hell_ that Obi-Wan would give such a sacred word to this  _scum._

And still the temperature dropped.

It lasted long enough that Obi-Wan began to think he would die here, hypothermic on the floor, unable to find shelter from the plummeting cold.

And then the Sith re-entered, with a woman clothed in thick winter garb. The Sith threw her on her knees, and Obi-Wan saw she'd been weeping, and silent tears still streaked down her face.

“Call me master, or she dies,” the Sith directed.

Obi-Wan stared at him in dismay. It could be a trick, with the woman in on it. Or, it could be a bluff—

A saber slipped into the dark one's hand, and was lifted to jab the emitter against the back of the woman's skull. A whimper tore out of her throat, a sob of terror.

“Stop!” Obi-Wan cried, horrified. “Please,  _M—Master,_ don't. Please.”

The Sith drew the saber away with a pleased smile. “Very good.” And then a crimson blade punched its way through the terrified creature's head.

Obi-Wan's world reeled and he startled back against the wall, his own head clunking hard, his heart thundering. “ _But I did what you asked!_ ”

“You hesitated,” the Sith tossed back, tone careless. “Next time you want something, you don't hesitate.”

The man left, leaving the lights on, the corpse on the floor, and a near-death Obi-Wan alone.

 

* * *

 

The Padawan didn't know it, but he held out against the cold and the hunger for over a standard rotation after the offer of warmth was laid out on the floor before him.

Sidious couldn't watch it all since he had duties, but he could  _imagine_ what was going on in that traumatized mind.

Kenobi could take the clothing from the woman, perhaps save himself...

But was he willing to do so?

It took a day and a half of argument within himself before Obi-Wan scooted forward, on shaking limbs, to crouch beside the body.

 

* * *  
  


He couldn't do it.

He couldn't  _desecrate_ that woman's body.

Better to die.

And... and he  _would_ die, unless he could find a way to conserve his own heat. The large, heavy coat? The  _boots_ that could keep him off the strength-sapping floor? And the hood— even with a hole in it, with bits of...  _bits_ dried on it...

Obi-Wan whimpered, gagged.

_What should I do?_

She didn't... she didn't _need_ them anymore. And... if he planned to give them back, once he no longer needed them for survival, then he wasn't really stealing from the corpse. And if he _died,_ how could he warn Qui-Gon there were _two_ Sith, not one?

Obi-Wan reached out fingers that ached terribly. Even gripping the sleeve of a coat inflicted excruciating pain, not that the grip was all that steady or firm.

The arm didn't move.

Another whimper escaped Obi-Wan, and he dragged himself back over to the wall.

Rigor mortis had set in. If he was going to take her clothes, he was going to have to...  _soften..._ the joints. Beat them, yank on them, pump them until they were supple enough to wrestle the clothing off.

Obi-Wan tucked his head to his knees and felt tears slip down his cheeks.

He wasn't  _that sort of person..._

Was he?

 

* * *

 

Sidious frowned, and dropped the temperature still further, needing the padawan to  _really_ weigh life and death.

 

* * *

 

Something had to change  _now,_ or he was going to go into shock and die.

Bundled up, he'd be fine, but with no cover...

He didn't stand a chance.

Was it... the right thing to do, to die for a dead person? For a living person, yes, he believed it absolutely, but a dead one?

_And I mean her no disrespect, I just want to live._

Obi-Wan crawled back to her side and knelt on the stomach.

It gave way a bit, bringing bile back into his throat again. He swallowed, grabbed her forearm, and yanked.

Nothing happened.

Was it worth it?  _Was_ it?

But Obi-Wan's hindbrain took over, the survival instinct programmed into all human beings, the desperate scrabble for more days even if the days weren't actually what they wanted.

He didn't know how long it took, and his hands were raw and burning by the time he freed the coat.

But...

He didn't stop with the coat.

Ashamed, he took shirt and pants as well, leaving only the underwear behind.

He found it difficult to bend his  _own_ body enough to crawl into the frigid cloth, but he managed it, all except for latching the boots. He couldn't make his fingers operate the latches. They kept slipping and getting cut in the process.

At last he gave up and huddled, the hood drawn tight around his head, despite the gaping hole in the back of it.

_Forgive me,_ he wept without tears to the universe, to the woman, to Qui-Gon.

To himself.

 

* * *

 

Sidious left him in there another day.

There  _was_ a water spigot, so the padawan had never been in danger of death by dehydration, but it was going on five days of no food.

Sidious had brought the temperature back up— not far enough to be obvious, but enough to allow the boy to live with his scrounged efforts.

It wasn't difficult to see that the padawan clearly thought the Sith intended to try to force him into  _eating_ the corpse as well.

Which was revolting. Sidious wasn't a  _savage._

He just needed the boy ravenous enough, and afraid of the alternative enough, to scarf down whatever Sidious ended up offering him.

 

* * *

 

The Sith had said he intended to make Obi-Wan  _take._ That Obi-Wan would, when  _truly_ under duress, put himself first. That none of his beliefs about protecting others would matter, when he was truly driven to the brink. That in the end... Obi-Wan would do whatever it took to  _survive,_ no matter  _who_ it hurt.

Obi-Wan tried to jog the edge of the room, not just to warm himself, but to keep his mind distracted.

He'd been very hungry before in his life, but nothing like  _this._

He didn't know how many days it might have been... he dreaded the thought it might only have been a few hours, that Qui-Gon would walk in that door, find him devouring a corpse, and stare at him in disgust, revealing Obi-Wan had only missed a couple meals.

No.

He wouldn't lose his dignity. He might lose his  _life,_ but he was  _keeping_ his dignity. No matter what his biological urge to  _survive_ demanded. He was more than his animal instincts, he had the ability to choose.

And  _this_ was where he chose to make his stand.

If he never made it back to Qui-Gon...

Then he didn't, but he would fripping  _respect_ himself in his final, painful minutes.

When the door slid open and the Sith tossed a whole, cooked nuna on the floor in front of him, Obi-Wan felt such visceral  _relief,_ and remembering the Sith's warning to  _immediately_ act if he wanted something or it would go  _away,_ scrabbled forward and fell on the baked avian.

His fingers shook as he ripped flesh off with his fingernails, stuffing it in his mouth.

Force, it was even  _warm—_

He'd devoured nearly half of it when he began to feel something amiss.

_Oh— oh, no—_

His body seized in on itself, his stomach finally alarmed, but not allowing him to throw it up. He fell to his side, writhing into a fetal curl, and the Sith moved to stand over him.

“W-what did you do to me?” Obi-Wan grit out as his jaw began to lock up and his fingers formed claws he couldn't uncurl.

The Sith didn't answer.

Obi-Wan realized he might die, or he might wake up again, he didn't have  _any idea which—_

And the not-knowing was somehow worse than if he'd just  _known_ death had come.

“You will hate me,” purred the Sith. “You will suffer endlessly, pointlessly, and discover that there is no one you can protect from your own, basest self, and the anger at the injustice will consume you until you look exactly. Like. Me.”

Obi-Wan tried to enunciate a calm, cold  _frip you,_ but his lips wouldn't move that much.

And then consciousness abandoned him.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan hated the durasteel helmet that locked his head in. Hated the little tab that fit in his mouth between his teeth, holding his tongue down, making it so he couldn't speak.

It also meant his mouth wasn't fully sealed, and drool oozed down his chin.

He hated that  _worse._

He had undershorts on this time, but the rest of the clothing had been taken, and he was in another room, bound to an x-shaped frame that held him upright, his ankles chained together and to the floor, with his arms out and up, with cuffs digging into his wrists.

There was also a Force suppressing  _something_ within the helmet, that stabbed into the back of his neck.

That's why he only recognized Master Dooku when he spoke, and not when the double set of footsteps entered the room.

“You desire power,” the Sith murmured, his voice making Obi-Wan shudder. “And to gain knowledge of the darkness is to steep oneself in it. Academics will not suffice.”

“I presume the naked man has something to do with your point?” Dooku's voice asked, tone dry.

Obi-Wan's heart surged upwards. All he had to do was let his grandmaster know he was  _here,_ and then he was  _saved!_ However good this Sith might be with a blade, Master Dooku was  _better._ He would save him, bring him back to Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan just had to figure out  _how_ to let him  _know—_

He tested the round sock-like slips that had been tied around his fists, keeping his fingers from expressing any sort of code, or the possibility of grabbing anything. Without the Force, and without anything close enough for him to bang his head against for a dot code...

Something was happening behind him. Something rasped against the floor, but Obi-Wan couldn't identify the sound.

“You are not serious,” Dooku protested, sounding repulsed. “Such barbarism is beneath me.”

“If you truly wish to understand the dark side, then you must begin with its first and most important principle: there is no right or wrong. There are only those with power, and those without.  _Nothing_ else has any meaning. There are those whose will shapes the universe, and there are those who are  _used to get there_ . You  _add_ to your power by  _taking_ it from someone with less. So tell me, Count,  _do you desire power?_ ”

There was a long pause and Obi-Wan blinked, squinting through the punched airholes in the front of his helmet, but he couldn't see more than vague colors.

“Yes,” Dooku whispered, and there was something  _awful_ in his voice.

Obi-Wan could almost feel how pleased the Sith was with the response, and a quiet smack followed, as of something being handed over. “Then  _take it._ Start with him.”

Heavy footsteps brought someone directly behind Obi-Wan, and then something trailed across the floor, whistled in the air—

And  _cut him_ from shoulder to opposite hip.

As much of a scream as could explode out of him with his tongue trapped to his lower jaw,  _did._

His mind raced in sync with his frightened and horrified heart.

Master Dooku...

His head, which had been hanging down, arched back as another strike left him trembling in pain against the chains. Through two holes that had been punched too close together, Obi-Wan saw a mirror.

And in the mirror...

His grandmaster.

_No. No, no, no—_

Dooku warmed to his work, his expression turning into a vicious snarl, and his still-strong arm driving all hope from Obi-Wan's soul as the Sith smiled and watched.

For a moment Obi-Wan was sure the Sith looked him  _right_ in the eye.

_He knows who I am to Dooku. He... knows._

Obi-Wan suspected that at some point the Sith would reveal just  _who_ Dooku had flogged... but it wouldn't be now. No. Only later, after Dooku had been too caught, too addicted to power to turn back.

And then he would discover that the random person he'd tortured had been someone important to him.

_He will be outraged._

And then the lesson would become clear.

Dooku wanted power. Obi-Wan had none left but what his blood could give, and what darkness inflicting suffering on him could generate.

And all that mattered...

Was what could be  _gained_ from another being.

Obi-Wan felt blood run down his thigh and he closed his eyes, unable to watch any more.

There was such rage in Dooku's eyes now, perhaps some of it due to Obi-Wan's death....

And by venting it on a person he presumed he didn't know....

He hurt the very one he mourned.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan came to with his back on fire, and his cell clear of the corpse, and at a reasonable temperature for survival.

He was entirely naked again. With this level of pain, he discovered he couldn't even care about his nudity. Surviving the agony took his full attention, and nothing else had a chance

_Master, please. Master, find me._ _Oh, Master Jinn..._

_Please._

 

 


End file.
